


Sleepwalkers

by FishLeather



Category: Original Work
Genre: Altered Mental States, F/F, Sleepwalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 11:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishLeather/pseuds/FishLeather





	Sleepwalkers

The offer was on the table, in a tall, steel beverage pitcher. It sat next to an empty glass. I could easily refuse. I could politely walk out of the room, and no one would stop me. I could simply get into the elevator, and leave all of it behind. The dreams would probably stop. The occasional nightmares, too. The evening sun cast warm its rays in a perfect halo around her shadowed face. I recalled the advertisement that brought me here. It had only been a phone number, and a question. 

"Are you sleepwalking?" 

Between blinks, a daring ray of light reflected from the pitcher, and her eyes shone. For a moment, I struggled to believe I wasn't already dreaming. I looked down, and counted my fingers. Ten. I was awake. I was awake and wasn't dreaming. I reached for the pitcher's handle, finding it warm from the sun. I wrapped my other hand around the glass, and my entire world became the desire not to spill anything. I had a feeling, one of those usually-false feelings, that the world would end if I did.

The contents of my glass were clear, but not water. Something thinner. She took away the pitcher, and as she turned to place it aside, I saw the shape of her head in profile. She didn't have any hair. I didn't mind. I picked up the glass, and breathed. I raised it to my lips, and began to drink. It was like vegetable oil, but my entire mouth became almost unbearably cold. I had to stop a few times, and each time I started again, the chill in my bones settled heavier. It seemed that no time had passed when the glass was empty.

She stood up, darkening the room by virtue of blocking the only window. She grasped my hand, and I let myself be led to the couch in the corner. My own hands were almost numb. She was still holding my hand when we sat in the dark. I felt like candle wax, not yet lit but already melting. The sun had set seemingly hours ago. I was sinking, the widely-woven blanket we were sitting on had begun to consume me. She snaked an arm behind my shoulders, and said something. It might have been a question. I said something back. Most likely an answer. I could almost hear crickets, 9 floors above ground level. I could almost hear wind. My lips carried on the conversation without me. I wondered about her own. I wanted to count my fingers again, but they were wrapped around a glass. I was still on the couch. I drank it quickly this time. I burned.


End file.
